


In Faith. One Day

by tsukinofaerii



Category: Satan's Alley (2009)
Genre: Blasphemy, Introspection, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-15
Updated: 2010-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 23:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukinofaerii/pseuds/tsukinofaerii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father O'Malley seeks penitence, and Father Doyle assists in his battle against the sins of the flesh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Faith. One Day

**Author's Note:**

> "Father Doyle" is, presumably, the character played by Toby Maguire.

Fasts. Lashes. Beatings. Death. Father O'Malley deserved them, he deserved them all and more, to writhe in the fires of Hell for his sins. Flesh unclean, unworthy of gracing a house of holiness, and yet welcomed in full knowledge of the refuse that came with it, for such was the forgiveness of the Lord.

At times, during his trials, he could feel the Lord, filling him with His might. The Holy Spirit hovered close, waiting for his impurities to be wrestled back, to make him a worthy vessel for His might. And then, like a breath of fetid air from the mouth of Hell, it would be washed away in the carnal excess which damned him. And then, seven days later, another trial, followed by another shame.

O'Malley would succeed. The Devil's hold on him would not be forever, and with the trials he weakened it regularly. It would break, and he would be free, and right again. Were it not for His grace, he would have no opportunity to repent, and thus wash the filth away.

Were it not for Father Doyle, guiding his steps as a candle flame in the night.

A twist of sackcloth pressed between his teeth, tied with a thin strip of leather by Doyle's thin fingers. It was a mercy he could only loathe, for without it he would break his vow of silence, and be doubly damned as weak. One day, he would do without. One day, he would be one with the Lord, having risen above the earthly lust that tainted him. So he had sworn, and so he would do, if it required a lifetime of repentance.

"Are you well, Father?" Doyle lifted his chin with gentle hands and met his eyes, boyish innocence clear in his gaze. Young though he was, he was filled with the Holy Spirit and devoted to His service. The beauty of his soul brought tears to O'Malley's eyes. Such was his purity that O'Malley was certain the Lord would call Doyle soon, and selfishly he prayed each night to keep his guidance for yet another day. "There is yet time to gather your strength."

Satan struck when the Lord's children were weakest. He could not risk succeeding when the battle was easy, only to be laid low when least suspecting. O'Malley shook his head, holding his wrists out.

Pity filled those blue eyes, but also admiration. "Your strength shames me, Father," Doyle whispered, wrapping a worn thong of leather around the offered wrists and binding him tight. "Would that we all could face our failings so bravely."

Though it showed not on his face, the despair in Doyle's voice caught O'Malley's heart. What failing could the boy have? He had been sent to guide, to minister, not to fall amongst the damned souls of Satan's Alley.

Cold air washed over O'Malley's legs as Doyle parted his robe. To his disgrace, he had already begun to respond to Doyle's touches and voice, to the vision of him kneeling down to the stone floor as in prayer.

It was not prayer which brought them together.

Soft lips wrapped around the tip of him, and Father O'Malley tipped his head back. The light of the cross glowed in golden glass on the window, filled with the faint warmth of the setting sun. He fixed his eyes on it as warm, wet heat engulfed him, seeking the prayers he had learned heart-deep to distract him from the filth that was earthly pleasure. His hands locked together, not yet seeking to break the binding and tangle in Doyle's hair, but they would, oh they would. And the tie between his lips would become wet with his need to cry out as the Holy Spirit again slipped away, denied him by way of his contamination.

This would not be the time he would reach it. He knew it as he touched the back of Doyle's throat, felt the suction all around him. No matter how he fought, still sin called him, a tainted lover who promised gold and delivered dross.

But one day he would be clean. One day, he would feel the touch of Doyle's mouth and know no desire, no wanton flame that tasted of sulfur as it scorched him from within.

One day.


End file.
